


There Are No Strings On Me

by CaptMickey



Category: Monkey Island
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst and Feels, Captivity, Heavy Angst, Other, Torture, Voodoo doll, listen it gets slightly less angsty by chapter 2 but not by much, please read author's notes if youre going to continue through with this fic, spoilers to monkey island 2, takes places between the end of MI2 and the beginning of MI3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27554824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptMickey/pseuds/CaptMickey
Summary: Looking over at the somewhat rusted metal pan, he saw the caged up voodoo doll of his likeness, laying there lifeless just like he was with its sewn eyes staring back at him. It made his stomach churn… or at least, it would have were he not so used to seeing its blank gaze staring back at him.He was scared to admit that he was slowly becoming accustomed to it.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HEYO!! Wanna put this heads up warning here that this chapter is SUPREMELY heavy on the angst and torture scene so like... if you can't handle that or that upsets you, PLEASE BACK OUT. I don't want any readers stressed over this because that is the last thing I wanted to do. 
> 
> So one last shot if you get easily uncomfortable or upset by contents such as: Voodoo, Torture, Captivity, Electro-Shock or even Needles... PLEASE. BACK. OUT.

With the toss of the doll back on the tray, he collapsed hard against the floor breathing heavily for air after today’s guest decided to truly test his lungs capability and see if that bold claim of his was actually true or not. In every sense of the word, he was nothing but a toy to the laughing masses that would pass by. His pleading and begging always fell on deaf ears as they continued to find new and horrible ways to make him regret and mourn that he was even capable of opening his eyes. He moved his head as much as he could to look at the crowd, relieved to see that there was no one there remotely interested in him and curled himself into as much of a ball as he could, feeling aches running through him with each ragged breath. 

Just this once he would appreciate falling asleep, but who knows? Maybe this time he would be able to stay asleep for good… that was too good of a luxury, however. He knew that was simply asking too much. It was especially too much to ask for someone like him.

It has been like this for a long time. How long, he couldn’t say, but he could barely retain any memory of a time before his captivity, before feeling himself being pulled, twisted, and yanked in all different and agonizing directions. If he was lucky, he could remember a time where he was asleep on something far softer than the dry and itchy hay. A time where the only aches he felt where because he foolishly sat or slept in a particular way. A time where his stomach didn’t feel like it was caving into itself, begging for something… anything. Sometimes he would dream himself back on the shores of Melee Island. Sometimes, he would find himself back in those horrible catacombs. If he was truly fortunate, sometimes as he felt his consciousness begin to drift away, he would dream of nothing. Those were the more pleasant ones. No pain or longing for something he was not entirely sure existed.

Looking over at the somewhat rusted metal pan, he saw the caged up voodoo doll of his likeness, laying there lifeless just like he was with its sewn eyes staring back at him. It made his stomach churn… or at least, it would have were he not so used to seeing its blank gaze staring back at him. There was something meaningful, he thought, but he couldn’t put the energy to think as to why. And that was just how things were for him. Day in and day out where things just blurred into a vibrant mess of a blur passing between the feeling of numbness and pain. 

He was scared to admit that he was slowly becoming accustomed to it.

\---

His blissful oblivion was harshly interrupted as he felt a sharp and unbearable pain pierce through him, quickly reaching out to grab the non-existent wound only to be met with restraint as his arm was pulled from his side against his will hearing that laughter… that unbearable laughter. Tired but scared blue eyes looked over at the new controller as they played around with the doll’s arm (his arm) for a moment, moving and twisting it about with little regards to his cries. The crew surrounding were all grinning, horrible ideas flashing behind their sneers that he recognized all too well. He hardly had any time to brace himself as they pushed the glistening needle through his doll’s shoulder, their cheering and laughter drowning out his yells as he desperately grabbed the non-existing wound.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts…! Why won’t they stop?!

“P...please…” his hoarse voice croaked out, “stop…” 

“Oh ho! You hear that, lads? The doll speaks!” One of them grinned, shaking the doll just slightly. “Hell of a sideshow act, this one is.”

A doll. A sideshow… was that all he was? He looked at the one holding the voodoo doll, pleading silently that they would follow through and stop. But much like sleep, he knew that was asking too much. Instead his strained requests were muted as he felt his ribs getting slowly crushed as the brute squeezed the doll as the group at the moment laughed at his pathetic attempts to claw free from something that wasn’t there. Amusing for them no doubt, but absolute hell for him. 

“Tell you what, I’ll let you go if you can dance for me.” The wielder requested. The crew behind the wielder snickered and whispered amongst themselves, saying things how they knew this would be a joke, how this would be impossible if they could see his bones and that he would fall faster than a house of cards. “Here, I’ll help.” And like a puppet on strings, his arms and body moved on their own against his will, painfully forcing him to move one way and another in rapid succession that it felt like at any moment his arm would fall right off. He wanted it to stop. For them to stop. For everything to stop. But it was drowned out as they kept laughing and moving him in ways that felt like an eternity. 

Eventually, the movement stopped as he fell to the floor, gasping for air to ease the aches and pain. What happened? He looked over and saw that it all stopped because the crew paused to catch their breaths from laughter. 

And unbeknownst to them, the doll dropped to the floor.

His heart stopped as he stared at the uncaged doll. The free doll. The doll that was no longer captive.

The doll that was literally within his grasp.

He shook, though he was not sure as to why and shakily moved himself upright before moving as fast as his body allowed towards it. His vision was blurred around him sans the doll that was in the clearest view. The clearest view that he has had for the first time in a long time. With his arm outstretched, he lunged forward and grabbed for the doll, hearing the crew stop dead from laughter and begin to yell, charging forward to grab it back from him, gripping his thin wrists tightly and pulling back and yelling for help. No. No! NO! His heart pounded harshly against his chest as he gripped the bars of his cell to fight back, tugging as much as he could against the fully energized crew, ignoring the ever growing shouts and yells of the masses witnessing their twisted game of tug of war. He was so close… so close! He fought back as much as he could until one of them decided to think and retaliated with a strong fist connecting into his jaw. 

Stumbling hard to the floor, he cupped his face, feeling the radiating pain from it when he quickly realized that both his hands were free. Any slight semblance of hope he had… any signs of relief were obliterated in an instant when he saw all those eyes staring at him as the crew held victoriously onto his doll.

“G...give it… give it back…” He begged, his bravado being no more than a farce as his eyes stung and his chest felt tight as their gazes toward him was unwavering. “Please… please… give it… give it back to me. Please. It’s mine.”

“No. It’s not.” 

His heart dropped as an instant numbing chill coursed over him. He knew that voice. He hated that voice. He… was terrified of that voice. He watched as the crowd stepped slightly aside as the rotting corpse of his captor stepped forward, casually taking hold of the voodoo doll in their cold and decaying hands. Instinctively, he pushed himself as far back as he could in his cell, trying desperately to get away as he felt his heartbeat terribly against his ears. 

“What’s this I hear about it belonging to you, Threepwood?” He asked, red eyes staring down into his very being as he pulled out a sharp needle.

“I-I-I can explain--”

“Did ye really think ya can have anythin’? Have a say, no less?” The needle glistened with a familiar spark. 

“L...LeChuck, wait--” His voice stopped dead in his throat as suddenly he felt himself get enveloped in that terrible and familiar feeling. One he recognized during his time in the catacombs. He gripped onto his sides trying to stop the sharp stab that pierced his chest while the electricity was coursing through him, to try and ease the pain in some shape or form, but all he did was hold himself as he fell to the floor and screamed loudly. He only ever had a few seconds of relief before the stabs came back at full force and the shocks along with it. How long has this gone for, he couldn’t say as after a while, he found himself with his throat, along with his body, aching beyond belief as he remained motionless on the floor, shaking from the residual shock (odd, he also felt something warm along his cheeks). 

“Now look what you’ve done, Threepwood. Ye scared off the poor pirates here.” LeChuck practically growled over him. 

“S… I’m-- ” His body shook. “I’m… I’m s-sorry…” 

“Sorry isn’t goin’ ta suffice.” He spoke in a low voice. “Frankly, I’m tired of yer pesky voice. It be very grating.” His lips curled into a grin. “And I know just the way to fix that.”

He watched through blurry eyes as the bulky form of a corpse handed over his doll to one of the henchmen, the words becoming hard to hear as exhaustion crept over him. All he was able to catch was that venomous sneer of LeChuck and the henchmen before he found himself succumbing to the darkness.

\---

It was something small, sharp and painful along his mouth that brought him back to the world of the conscious. Odd, usually it was something a lot stronger to jolt him awake… that was usually the case. Weakly, he pushed himself up and tried moving the tingling feeling from his mouth away, it felt like one of those static feelings after resting on one’s foot for too long but it wasn’t leaving. If anything, it was persistent. Maybe if he opened his mouth, the feeling would go away. That seemed to make the most sense, no need to worry. He tried opening his mouth...

...But it wouldn’t open.

It… wouldn’t open. It wouldn’t open. Why couldn’t his mouth open?! 

His heart dropped as his hands quickly went over his lips. There was nothing there, no gag or rope or anything of the sort. So why? Why?! Why couldn’t his mouth just open?! He frantically grabbed his face, trying to feel for anything to free him of his current state. He tried pulling at his jaw or his lips to open but found himself unable to do so but felt more panic course through him and tears welling when he found nothing sans his own hair and face. No. No. No. No! There had to be something! His heart raced as he could only breathe through his nose. 

“Ah, I see you’re awake.” The dark low tone of the voodoo priest spoke, looking rather pleased through the skull mask. “Admiring my handy work, are we?”

What did you do to me?! He wanted desperately to scream but when that failed to be feasible, he just breathed harder. 

“LeChuck found your tone of voice… less than pleasing for his clientele.” He began to explain in an eerily calm voice that made the blond’s blood freeze. “More to that, he was not happy of you talking back to both him and the guests. So we made the executive decision of taking away your speaking privileges. And the only way to do so… Well, I believe it’s one of my best works to date.” In his hand, he held the pirate’s doll in hand, having remained mostly the same. Everything… except for the mouth having been sewn shut in a zigzag pattern. 

He wanted to yell in horror, but his expression spoke volumes for him as from the corner of his eye, he spotted LeChuck sauntering over towards him, a maniacal grin gracing his face as he leered over at the captive blond. “Ah. I see yer up.” His grin became somehow more demonic as the blond failed to respond. “Oh, what’s the matter, Threepwood? Nothin’ witty to say? Cat’s got yer tongue?” He grinned. “Or perhaps… yer just left speechless?” He barked out a laugh that caused the blond’s blood to boil. “You know… I much prefer ya this way. Makes ye more tolerable.” The rotting corpse looked over at the priest. “Excellent work.”

“Thank you.” He nodded in appreciation.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to. Can’t be standin’ around all day listening to yer chatter.” LeChuck walked away laughing loudly and leaving the two alone.

The priest turned his gaze to the blond. “Let this be a lesson to you the next time you try to act out against LeChuck.” He threatened before walking away with the doll in hand, leaving the blond alone in his cell.

He sat there in his cage, still touching his mouth and felt his chest tightened rapidly, his eyes burned as he rapidly started blinking before shutting it close and laying back down on the floor gripping his face, letting himself to drown in despair as that was all he could do now that his one tool, his one skill set, his one and only means of escaping was taken away from him by force. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how the last chapter was heavy on the torture scene? Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaah same warning applies here. Only this time with fire. You've been warned!

The days blurred into one another afterwards. He stopped keeping tabs on when the sun rose or when the stars appeared (if he could even see it through the carnival lights). He could only tell it was night when his body began to shake to the evening chill. There truly was no point in trying to satisfy his hunger or quench his thirst now that his lips were locked tightly, so the few scraps he was ever able to get beforehand just taunted him in his cell. Over time, he stopped feeling hungry. He slowly stopped touching his mouth, figuring there was no way out of its bind.

Overtime, he began forgetting who he was.

And the doll… the doll laid motionless in its own chained up cell mocking him before the next guest came to play with it. He stopped crying out when his arm was yanked too hard or the various stabs he felt from the needle… in fact, he grew rather numb to the whole thing. He would recognize that what was happening was supposed to hurt, he acknowledged that what he was supposed to feel was pain, but he hardly reacted. How could he when his mouth was sewn shut and his voice was taken from him? He stopped trying to reach out for it, stopped trying to fight for his freedom. He stopped even hoping that it was a feasible option for him. Suppose he were to get off this pit of hell, what then? He couldn’t speak, he hardly had the energy to move, and he had no means of even getting off the island. What was the point?

But he couldn’t think like that for too long. It was bad for business… or at least, that was what he was told every time a guest complained about him and brought forth LeChuck. Then he would be given a shocking reminder of his current position. 

Overtime, he figured that it was best to, much like his mouth, shut his mind off. It brought more harm than good when all he could do was think of was falling asleep and staying asleep. How he would wish he could dream himself elsewhere and pray that he would remain in that world. If his mind was off… if his thoughts were quiet, then maybe he would stop feeling that horrible ache in his chest. And that’s just how things were. Since his encounter with those pirates and LeChuck, he would quietly curse that he was able to wake up to the nightmare and be toyed around with. For how long this went on, he couldn’t say. It could have easily been months, days, years even. Or perhaps just a few hours. 

In the end, it did not matter in the slightest. 

\---

The session ended for the night as the new faces walked away from his cell. He fell back to the hard floor, allowing him to catch his breath (well, not really catch his breath, he supposed it was more deep inhaling) and wrapped his bony arms around himself when the night fell, trying to stop his shivering (why he was even bothering, he couldn’t say) as he laid on the cold floor, pulling himself as close as possible trying to retain whatever warmth there was left in him. 

He watched as the last of the guests had finally reached their fill of entertainment and were led like cattle away, promised a ride of a lifetime by the Monkey Head. Though if he had to guess, it probably was something other than excitement based on the screams he would hear from there. Tired blue eyes looked around the cell, his gaze landing on the doll’s own prison, the familiar feeling of jealousy crept over him as he continued to stare at it. How amazing it must be to be a literal lifeless object. To exist and not feel a thing. No hunger, thirst… dreams. Maybe tonight he could dream of nothing instead of the redhead that made his chest ache and feeling miserable with all the things he wished he could have said and now never will. How he hated the thing and yet found himself begging to switch places every night. He inhaled deeply, his eyes half closed, ready to be shut from the world when he heard that slight jingle. Heavy iron that has been shifted just a little by the winds. He looked at his own chains and saw it still. A brow was raised. His attention shifted towards anything else that could possibly make that sound and slow sat up, trying to listen… trying to find it. Another slight jingle was heard and he turned his head towards the direction where he thought he heard it when he spotted it. 

Iron keys. Iron keys that were on the ledge of the doll’s cage. 

He felt numb.

This… this was too good. He looked around, wondering if this was some form of torture. It had to be. It had to be! No one would leave something like this important. Would they? It was possible. No. That couldn’t be right. This was a trap. They’re waiting for him to mess up. An excuse to hurt him some more. Then again… that never stopped them from hurting him for no reason. 

And yet, he couldn’t stop staring at it, feeling suddenly dizzy at the influx of thoughts that he pushed away for so long. He looked around, making sure the area was as clear as possible before pushing himself up. Every bone in him rattled as he forced himself to move, a sensation he felt deprived of for so… so long. The thought that he was more accustomed to being moved around like a puppet than on his own made his stomach churn, but he nevertheless crawled himself towards the bars of his cell, his gaze not breaking from those iron keys. Iron keys… that were within arm’s length. 

He felt sick.

Looking around once more, he stretched his arm out as much as he could and felt the chill of the iron against his fingertips. His throat felt tight at the sensation as he kept grasping for it to come closer. He knew it was getting closer as he felt more and more and more of the key. This was too good. This was all too good. His hands were practically shaking from nerves. He was going to wake up and find out that he was grasping his chain or someone decided to stab that bloody needle into his fingers or perhaps he was finally succumbing to the cold and maybe this horrible nightmare could finally come to an end and free him from this hell. But it was so close. It was so close! It was…

It was in his hand.

The iron keys were in his bony, shaking hand. He exhaled through his nose as he saw his extended arm gripping the keys so tightly that it turned his knuckles white. This… this was happening. Right? This is when the dream usually ended. Right now. He should wake up right now. He quickly pulled his arm back, hugging tightly the keys as he felt his body violently shake and his eyes sting something fierce. 

This is real. This is real. This was real. This is…

His eyes widened as he quickly examined the keys, noting that there were two. He looked between at the key and his chained ankle and fumbled about it trying to figure which one it went to. When the first key failed, he felt that familiar sense of dread turn his stomach into a knot, already thinking how all of this was too good to be true. He was ready to quit when he saw the second key. A second chance! His hands shook as he tried again to free himself, to remove the shackles when he heard it.

A click.

He wanted to cry out as he watched the chain fall off. It was a horrible purple, blue and red around his frighteningly thin ankle from all the moving about the doll had put him through, but it was free. His ankle was free. He gingerly touched it, flinching slightly from the sharp pain but he felt something other than restraint. 

Frantic, he looked up and at his cell door. If one key was for his chains… then the other one had to be for the door. It had to be, right? He tried pushing himself up, a wave of pain washed over his legs, his knees buckled fiercely as he collapsed once again on the floor, breathing heavily. Has it been that long since he stood up on his own? Was this what was going to do him in? No. No! He refused to be done in by his own body. He gave a slight punch to his thigh as he stood up again, biting his cheek from the pain that came over him as he took his first step. Each step felt like stepping on needles (oddly fitting, he thought) as he moved himself closer to the door. He stumbled hard, but was able to catch himself on the cell door. It was so hard to breathe through just his nose. But he couldn’t stop now. Not now. 

He took the keys out and picked the first one. If one was for his chain, then the other was for the door… it had to be. A look over towards the Monkey Head, and he noted that they were all still busy. Good, but that didn’t mean he had enough time to dwell and think about it. His hands shook as he wrapped his arm around the cell door, feeling his heart beating harshly against his chest as he pushed the key into the lock. If he felt sick before, he felt horribly nauseous now. A slight turn of the iron key when he heard that ever so satisfying click yet again. He rested his head against the cold metal bars and felt tears forming when the door heaved just slightly open. Taking a breath, he pushed the door further and stumbled terribly out of his cell, landing on his hands and knees. If he could, he would have gasped as he was feeling for the first time actual dirt beneath his hands. No person would miss dirt, and yet… he kept opening and closing his hands as watched the dirt move about. 

In the distance, he heard screams from the Monkey Head and felt his heart sink. He was running out of time and he needed to go now before they captured him once more. Quickly, he stumbled himself upright and held onto the bars of his cell when he felt a terrible nagging feeling, like eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. He looked over his shoulder where he saw his likeness in the form of the voodoo doll staring him from its own locked cage. How he hated the damn thing so much… but he knew he couldn’t leave it here. There was always the chance that it could be used against him again. He turned himself around and moved over towards the cage, placing in the same key to unlock it knowing full well that it was a longshot for it to work.

So to hear that rewarding click for a third time, he felt his heart soar. He chucked the key away and grabbed the doll quickly, hearing the sounds of screams escalate. He had to move. He had to go. He had to leave. Gulping, he moved himself from the bar, fighting to keep himself steady and began to move as quickly as he could to the woods, biting back the pain from his aching legs as he slowly shifted himself into a run.

\---

He breathed heavily through his nose as he ran into the dark woods, gripping tightly the voodoo doll and having nothing but the moon as his only source of light. His feet ached with all the rocks and branches he was undoubtedly stepping on but he didn’t care. Not now when adrenaline was coursing through him. In truth, he could barely believe that he would make it this far, that this was even plausible. So he had no clue where he was heading, but all he knew was that he had to move away from where he was.

That was a good starting point, he thought.

Skidding to a slight stop to catch his breath, he bent over and held onto his knees to keep himself standing knowing that if he sat now, there was the off chance that he would not get back up, and he could not risk that chance. His ears perked at the distant sounds of a voice and his heart sunk. Were they looking for him already? Of course they were looking for him. He escaped a cage and tossed the keys to boot as further damning evidence of his escape. How absolutely reckless and careless of him to have a trail. The voices were getting closer and he frantically looked around for a place to hide while gripping the doll close to his chest. He would much rather die than have to be locked up and tortured again by this accursed horrible thing. Spotting some tall enough trees, he pushed himself towards and hid behind it, carefully looking around it to spot the voice.

He was a fairly skinny man, he figured, scraggly even, but perhaps a good foot or two shorter than himself who swayed to and fro as he walked. He hid further behind the tree as the other pirate wandered about and looked around. No doubt sent by the horde to go looking for him and to drag back to his cell. 

The blond stumbled over something as he continued to hide from his would-be captor and looked down. A wooden plank. Not thick enough to be considered too heavy, but not thin enough to not act as some form of defense. It was better than nothing, he thought. He looked back up where the swaying man was and felt his heart beating faster and faster. That man was not going to be what stopped him from seeking out his freedom, he bitterly thought as the swaying man moved closer to his tree. Furrowing his brows, he placed the doll down and bent down, picking up the piece of wood and feeling the sense of weight to it (probably more than him to be honest). He moved around the tree and quietly moved behind the man, gripping tightly the plank of wood and pulling it back. 

He was not going to be captured. Not now. Not ever again.

With no hesitation, he swung the plank of wood as hard as his body allowed when he heard a loud and terrible crack against the man’s head, stumbling himself to the floor from his own momentum. He shakily picked himself up after he dropped the bludgeon weapon to the ground and stared at his work, feeling a sense of chill and panic wash over him and stumbled backwards 

The body laid motionless, but all he felt was that cold chill air breeze through his tattered clothes when a thought occurred. If he were to escape, undoubtedly there would be others out at sea that would question him based on his current attire. It… would make sense that he would change into something more appropriate. That outfit should probably do fine.

No other thought came through as he quickly scrambled at changing clothes with the fallen man. He felt that, under other circumstances, he would question it. But this time, he rushed. And once changed, he then rushed towards the tree he hid behind and picked up the doll before continuing his escape.

\---

His run led him to what he could best describe as a graveyard for the amusement park where a bunch of broken machinery, and burnt parts laid with little regard by the shore. He looked around, noting that no one was here except for himself and the doll. 

The shore… he watched the waves crash gently into the sand taking a breath. How he wanted to give a slight sigh of relief, though deep down he knew that if he did, it was a short-lived relief. He was not going to find any until he escaped. He rested his back against the boarded up fence and looked at the doll in his hand, its lifeless eyes staring up at him with that horrible zigzagged excuse of a smile. The temptation to just chuck it away or to bury it alive was overwhelming, but he feared what that would mean for himself if he injured the voodoo artifact. He just wanted to be rid of the thing. He just didn’t know how. Resting his head back, he tried to think back on any memory he had retained, any of the books he skimmed through, but it all felt like a massive blur to him. Like running through a dense fog trying to find anything before his time here. He looked down at the doll in hand and behind him were the dim torches were lit when a thought popped up. 

With any voodoo related artifact to destroy, it usually meant burning it. Of course, he could be misremembering. He could even be making that memory up. But he couldn’t think of anything else and he did not have the luxury of trying to think of alternative ways to deal with the doll. 

Quickly getting to work, he gathered a bunch of twigs and whatnot and placed it in a pile, putting on top of it all the voodoo doll before he went to grab the torch, making sure the flames were enough to light the miniature bonfire. This could go only one of two ways, he thought, but it was better than nothing. He eyed the doll, wondering if he was feeling something akin to guilt when he gazed at the seam along his doll’s mouth. He wished he could scowl. He dropped the torch on the doll and watched it slowly get engulfed in flames. 

It started out small, feeling his body getting increasingly hotter as the fire grew more and more, feeling it get difficult to breathe. Actually, he was regretting his decision to burn his doll, as it felt like he set himself on fire. He fell to the ground, desperately trying to escape the burning sensation that washed over him, wanting to cry out as it felt like his insides were on fire. He frantically flailed on the floor, feeling like he was trapped in an inferno, craving for some relief from this hell. He could only let out a muffled scream as the doll continued to burn beside him, he couldn’t even move himself to watch it happen as he rolled about on the ground. Even worse, deep down, he wished to be back in his cold cell. That was more preferable than burning alive.

But just as sudden as the flaming torture came, it left. Like a piece of string snapping, he no longer felt his body burn and suddenly, he gasped.

He gasped loudly, at that.

He laid on the ground by the small campfire, panting heavily as the chilled sweat covered his face. He gulped in several large lungs full of air before placing a shaking hand over his mouth. It was undoubtedly open. His mouth… it was open. It was no longer sewn shut. That irritable sensation of static over his mouth, gone. He smiled widely. 

“Finally…” his voice croaked, “Finally…”

Was that his voice? It sounded so… foreign to him. Hearing his voice out loud again, he moved his hands over his face and curled up, breaking into mad laughter before dissolving into heavy sobs. 

He stayed like that for a while, as for how long, who knows. But he knew that the luxury of staying in one place was not there and he knew he had best get to work if he wanted to escape. Picking himself up, he then looked around the junkyard, looking for anything that could be deemed as seaworthy. At this point, he would have been thankful for a lifeboat or a cruddy raft to use as means of a vehicle… anything, really. But either the parts were too thoroughly destroyed, too heavy, or light on its own but with his added weight it would sink in an instant. He kept muttering to himself for a boat, kept muttering regardless just to reacquaint himself with his voice, as he looked around for something. 

As luck would have it, he found a bumper car. All he needed to do now is find a way to get it to float.


End file.
